After the Storm
by NothingImpossible
Summary: Second part in a "Killian gets sick" series, post-recovery. (First part has yet to be written, but soon)
**A/N:** Prompt from lavoyageuse21 for sick!Killian turned into two parts, the actual illness and this. The first part hasn't been written yet (sorry).

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He leaned his head and shoulder against the wooden railing of the porch with a sigh. The sun was just starting to peek out from the clouds at the horizon, thankfully not directly in his still-sensitive eyes. The light caught on the droplets of water that decorated just about everything in the garden, the grass and leaves glittering with shimmering sparkles and bright colours. The air was heavy with moisture, though cool and light against his skin, filled with the sharply sweet smell that followed such intense rains.

He loved being outdoors at times like these, the feeling of the world slowly recovering after surviving the vicious beating the storm meted out all night long. The flowers and grass stood just a bit taller than before, seeming almost proud for having withstood the heavy downpour that hammered at them for hours on end.

It was something he could relate to, in more ways than one. Most recently, it was the bout of illness that nearly overwhelmed him. He already felt much better, the pounding in his head just a dull throb and he was no longer shivering uncontrollably under the covers, but the lingering effects of being sick still had him worn out and wishing for more sleep. He yawned widely, just as she stepped out on the porch behind him.

"Coffee?" she offered, handing him a mug, the brew dark and rich just the way he liked it. He hadn't much to eat or drink the previous couple of days, and the warm drink was perfect, exactly what he needed. He took the cup with barely-trembling fingers, his muscles still weakened from days spent abed, and brought it to his lips. A small sip and he groaned in pleasure.

"My saviour," he murmured into the cup, the steam wafting over him, carrying on its back the delicious aroma of the brewed beverage.

They sat quietly for a few moments, shoulders touching as they waited for the world to rouse itself from its well-deserved slumber. Sometimes he could hardly believe that he was permitted to live amidst such peacefulness and quiet, the centuries he'd spent chasing, fighting, running, had hardly prepared him for the calm he took in every day now, the occasional villain notwithstanding. He never thought he'd be rid of the storms that seemed to follow him, both those of thunder and lightning as well as the internal maelstrom that tried relentlessly to shipwreck his every sense of right and wrong.

He turned to watch her, her eyes closed over the tendrils of steam from the coffee as the heat of the mug warmed her hands. His heart clenched tightly. She'd been his compass, his lifeline in the hurricane that threatened to unmake the very last bits of himself all those years ago. She'd seen through the villain he had been and straight to the man he could be, the man he tried to be everyday, for her but also for himself. She'd given him a chance so long ago, one which he hoped he was still deserving.

She opened her eyes and met his. "Headache better?" she asked gently.

"Aye, much," he nodded. "Thank you."

"My mom did most of the hard work," she said, nodding her head to the side.

He grinned. "With your encouragement, no doubt."

She hummed in response and took a sip from her mug. How she could drink the stuff with as much sugar and milk as she did was something he probably would never understand, a destruction of the very nobility of coffee, reducing it to a simple sweetened syrup. But he wouldn't trade her blasphemous morning drinking habits for anything in the world.

He looked back out at the garden, slices of sunlight just starting to cut through the trees, sending lines of shadow and light patterning across the yard. In a short while, the heat from the rising sun would burn off most of the remaining raindrops, all signs of the turbulent tempest erased, aside from in memory. The world changed, past rebuilt to make way for the future.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked as she rested her head against his shoulder.

He shrugged slowly, careful not to jostle her too much. "Nothing really."

"Come on," she said, lifting her head. "You're never just thinking of 'nothing', Killian. What is it?"

"Well," he started quietly, a slow blush rushing to his cheeks almost as warm as the fever had been. "I was just marvelling over how far we've come after all this time." She didn't say anything, so he continued. "We've led quite interesting lives, you and I. Not the best lives, nothing I'd wish on anyone else, ever."

He settled his mug on the step below and slipped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close with a kiss on her forehead. "And look at us now," he murmured into her hair. "Just look at where we are, who we've become, despite our pasts and all we've been through. We got a new beginning, a new chance. I could never have imagined being so…" He struggled for a moment, trying to find the word that could convey everything he was feeling.

"Happy?" she offered.

He nodded, willing away the lump that threatened to rise. "Aye, happy. And loved. It's almost like a dream, but it just feels-"

He broke off, swallowing hard. She nuzzled deeper into his embrace, her free hand reaching for his fingers which she grasped tightly.

"It just feels like home," she said softly.

"Yeah." He pressed his lips against her head again. "Just like home."

They stayed on the porch for a while longer as the last of the night's rain evaporated into the warming morning air, the memories of harder times melting into the promise of happier ones to come, and he knew, despite the lingering weakness from his recent recovery, that he'd never felt better in all his life.


End file.
